I was greatly delighted to see how much Octavia was enjoying the fennyk, but I could not dismiss the nagging concern in the back of my mind that I was less than an enthralling host. If the most memorable part of her night was the meal itself, I might as well have sent her plate to her home in the colony where she could have eaten in the comfort of her own haven. As enchanted by her as I was, I wanted the most memorable part of her night to be me.

Romance had never been a skill I developed, however, and I was uncertain how to go about thrilling her. Small talk was too superficial, but I was worried about appearing contrived by bombarding her with questions or heavy topics. I was floundering for any semblance of control over the impression I made on her, though, so I grasped at the first thought that wandered through my mind, and that was to learn more about her.

“Your friend from the wedding is very energetic,” I remarked. “You seem rather more reserved than she. Are you as talkative behind closed doors?”

“As talkative as Edie?” Octavia reiterated. A broad grin crossed her lips, and she shook her head. “No, definitely not. I don’t think anyone’s as loud and boisterous as Edie.”

“So, it is not merely in my presence you are quiet?” I hoped I sounded casual, though I was burning with desire to know if I tamped any vim within her.

She crooked her head then and peered at me with thoughtful consideration. “Of the two of us, I’m not so sure I’m the quiet one,” she commented, her grin slipping into a delicate smile that lifted the hairs on the back of my neck.

“I am not much of a conversationalist,” I agreed. “I am only wondering if my being an Elder has any impact on your behavior around me.”

Her thoughtfulness continued, her eyes drifting upward toward the ceiling as she processed the notion. I did not press her. Instead, I waited silently for her to answer and forked another bite to my mouth. Finally, she mused, “I’d like to say your authority doesn’t intimidate me, but I think that’d be a lie. You have a lot of power; you command a certain level of respect I’ve never been exposed to before. I think it’d be impossible not to be impacted by that.”

“Perhaps you ought to inform the rest of Dhal’at about the respect I command,” I responded rather dryly. I did not intend to sound so bitter, but the public opinion weighed heavily on me and served as a constant nuisance to my ego.

“What do you mean?”

I threw a somewhat dismissive look toward the nearest window as if chastising all those on the other side of the palace walls and said, “I am far from a beloved Elder.”

“Why?” she asked.

Swinging my gaze from the window to her, I studied her innocent expression warily. “Surely, you know how I came to be Elder?”

She nodded, and I saw sympathy in her hauntingly dark eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you, being accused and thrown in jail and everything when all you were trying to do was protect him.”

“It was difficult,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, my being found not guilty was not the end of the difficulties. The Dhal’atian opinion of me, particularly since having been inaugurated into the Elderhood, has consistently erred on the negative. There are many days I am certain the only civilians to believe my innocence are my parents and my brother. And his new wife, of course, as she helped fight to have me absolved.”

“But why?” she pressed, now leaning into the table and nearly dipping the fabric of her dress into the sauce on her plate. “Don’t they trust that the Council looked at the case from every angle and made the right decision?”

I thinned my mouth into a slit and shook my head ruefully. “You are approaching the point with a logical perspective,” I said. “The A’li-uud against me are not thinking with reason; they are thinking with their emotions. Elder Kharid was one of the most adored Elders Dhal’at ever saw, perhaps even one of the most adored in all of Albaterran history. Nearly all who lived under his rule suffered a horrendous grief when he died, and they still grieve today. It matters not to them whether he died accidentally or intentionally. Because he died by my sword, they feel justified in reining me to the heft of their grief.”

“That’s not right, though,” she protested stubbornly, as if I was the one she needed to convince.

“I could not agree with you more,” I acknowledged in reply, “however, there is little I can do to rectify it other than proving myself against their biases.”

Octavia leaned toward me, resting her elbow on the space beside her plate and propping her chin onto her palm. I paused with my utensil halfway to my mouth, suddenly enraptured by her proximity. She was too far away for me to steal a much-desired kiss, but she was close enough for me to see the swirls and patterns in her glistening irises. In some ways, that was even better a gift than a kiss.

“Well, I don’t know how much this will matter, seeing as I’m a human and all, but I think you’re doing a great job,” she said in earnest. She spoke quietly, her words silken but honest, and I was unable to tear my gaze away from her despite feeling like I had suddenly stepped into a very hot, very bright beam of sunlight. “And I’m sure Ka-lik’et and the rest of Dhal’at will see that soon enough, too.”

The weight I had battled for three months, bearing down upon my shoulders until I was forced to hunch and bearing down upon my psyche until I was forced to tuck away my feelings, slipped. It may have been a metaphorical weight, but I would have sworn right then and there before the entire Council that I felt several tons shifting at that moment. Offering me the first hint of relief I had felt since the day I realized the tip of my sword was buried deep into the sternum of the Elder to whom I had devoted my life. She may not have had the slightest concept of my newly-acquired obligations to my kingdom and its people, but I was impervious to my own cynicism as the words left her mouth and settled in my brain. Her approval, regardless of its weight to anyone else, meant more to me than I could have professed. I knew my parents supported me, as well as my brother and new sister-in-law, but I took their support for granted because they were family. To hear such praise from someone at a time when I felt I would soon crumble beneath the pressures and the hatred was like being lifted to the stars and told to pluck one. It was magical, beautiful, and the fact the praise came from her made it all the more meaningful.

“Thank you,” I said with as much modesty and composure as I could manage. In truth, I would have loved to throw my chair back, seize her by the waist, and kiss her with every ounce of gratitude and passion I had inside me. Such behavior would surely frighten her away, though, so I allowed my verbal thanks to act as representative for my feelings and forced myself to take another bite of fennyk to distract myself from my urges.

She slid back in her chair, lifting her elbow from the table and righting herself. I was very aware of the renewed distance between us, and it brought me a confusing blend of disappointment and relief. This Earthling was more alien to me than any creature I had ever encountered before with her bewitching ways. I was tempted to ask if she had magical capabilities she had thus far failed to disclose, because I could feel her grip on my soul, soft and gentle yet suffocating. A common belief amongst A’li-uud was the Grand Circle brought together those who would perpetuate the cycle in their unity through the power of compatible energies. I had never discounted the belief, but I had never given it a great amount of thought either. As I shared the same space with this mystic of a human, however, I finally understood the gravity of the myth and found myself converting to the status of an avid advocate.

My body began moving of its own accord, leaning on the table and meeting the space she had just vacated. I had to kiss her. I needed to drink her in.